


Band-Aids and Breakfast

by mia6363



Series: Ink & Sugar [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Awkwardness, Cooking, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, First Meetings, Fluff, Human Disaster Bobby Finstock, M/M, Meeting the kids, diaster dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: A floorboard creaked behind her.She turned, expecting to see her father’s familiar form fill the narrow hallway, rubbing his eyes and a hoarse “Alley-Cat?” on his lips.Instead, she saw a lumberingstranger.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Bobby Finstock
Series: Ink & Sugar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545634
Comments: 28
Kudos: 147
Collections: Finstock's Fucked Up Long Weekend 2019





	Band-Aids and Breakfast

Witching hour air washed down Allison’s neck as she took off her motorcycle helmet. She loosened the strap and slung it around the hand grip. Gravel crunched under world-weathered boots. She rolled her bike down the long, winding driveway that zig-zagged between weeping willows, leafy tendrils brushing her hair and shoulders. It struck her, with a sudden clarity, that she hadn’t been back home for two years. 

Two years had felt like a lifetime or merely seconds, and it wasn’t until she leaned her bike beside her father’s that she felt the time for what it was. _Two years._

Guilt tightened its grip around her throat, a brief squeeze. She breathed through it. 

_No use regretting the past,_ Allison thought as she slid her key into the front door, toeing off her boots the moment she was inside. _We only have the present._

Jet-lag and adrenalin were a strange mix, and Allison thought the moment she stepped inside she would collapse on the couch after scrawling, _Surprise I’m home_ on the refrigerator in washable marker. Once she slipped the straps of her canvas bag from her shoulders and her eyes adjusted to the dark, Allison couldn’t have slept if she tried. 

Her home was almost exactly the same. The same tear in the couch when Allison had gotten overzealous with a bow and arrow when she was seven made her smile. The curtains were still a lemony yellow, always spilling flowery light across the carpet when the sun hit the cloth. When she hung her jacket up on the rack, her hand bumped the cracked leather strap from her dad’s bag. When she breathed in deep, she smelled charcoal, sweat, and dust. _Home._

Despite years away in France with her mother, her bare feet still remembered the feeling of kitchen linoleum. She dug through her bag and took out the bags of coffee she’d brought over. She had the energy, might as well make proper coffee for her father, way better than the Folgers he insisted _wasn’t that bad actually._

She leaned against the counter. 

Her first surprise came from the French press. Allison thought she was going to have to dig in her bag for the cheap one she was going to “forget” at her dad’s so he could treat himself to some decent coffee. _Looks like he beat me to it,_ Allison thought. 

It was glass, very clean but also used, judging by the light marks on the handle. 

She took her coffee and began the process, counting down from thirty until she poured the rest of the water in. 

Breakfast in her dad’s house usually meant scrambled eggs and checking to see if the bread had gone moldy before sticking it in the toaster. Allison opened the refrigerator, expecting only a third of the space to be utilized. 

“What the hell?”

Allison blinked, her entire slack. 

The drawers were full of vegetables, tupperware of leftovers that looked… _good._ Jars full of different colored sauces glowed in the fluorescent light. Little details of the kitchen leapt out at her. A loaded spice rack, a new wok, several pots and pans in cabinets, and more utensils other than the _bare essentials_ that her dad had always scraped by with. 

A floorboard creaked behind her. 

She turned, expecting to see her father’s familiar form fill the narrow hallway, rubbing his eyes and a hoarse “Alley-Cat?” on his lips. 

Instead, she saw a lumbering _stranger._ For two seconds, she was frozen, rooted to the spot as her body began to shake. _Intruder, intruder, intruder_ made her throat close up. When she could finally move, she kicked the refrigerator shut. She grabbed the closest thing to her, her favorite mug, and hurled it at the stranger before immediately running to the living room. She had reached the archway when the stranger cried out, the shattered pieces plinking against the linoleum. 

“Dad!” Allison took cover behind the door frame, already typing the code to the gun safe. The door clicked and she took the pistol into her hands, checking to see if it was loaded. “There’s someone in the house!” 

Right as she said _someone,_ the intruder caught himself on the island in the kitchen, his broad frame shuddering. 

“Chris,” he wheezed, “I’m okay, I think. Fuck.” 

Footsteps thundered down the hall and her father threw the lights on. Allison blinked the spots out of her eyes, heart hammering in her chest. Her father was by the man’s side in an instant, checking the arm that he used to block the mug. _I’m fine, I swear,_ the man insisted, taking a dish towel and pressing it over light scratches. _Finally,_ her dad looked at her.

“Alley-cat?” She scrambled to quickly put the gun back in the safe, closing it quietly before she got up. He hugged her, tight and lifted her up like he always did. “What are you doing here?” 

“I,” Allison squeezed him, dizzy with confusion and embarrassment. “I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t mean to,” she pulled back, red in the face and feeling out of place in her own home. She caught the eyes of the man she assaulted. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t expect…”

She trailed off because a deluge of words came to her mind and none of them fit. _To see you, to see anyone in this house beside my dad, to… find out my dad is gay/interested in men/dating again…_

“All good,” the man flashed her a thumbs up. “I get it.” She took in more details of his face, the severity of it, the harsh lines under his eyes and around his mouth. His wild hair. His shirt that exclaimed _FUCK COPS_ in bold black letters. He crouched, gathering up broken pieces of ceramic on the floor. “You two should, uh,” he waved his hand with an awkward grimace, “you know. I’ll clean up and make breakfast or some shit.” 

Allison didn’t know what to do, what to grab, if she needed to take all her bags and keys, or if she should leave it piled by the couch. Her dad grabbed a blanket off the back of a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was just like when she left, a warm blanket, and a long talk outside. 

They sat at the very end of the porch, feet dangling over the edge. 

Despite the jet-lag, Allison still _noticed_ things once the panic faded. She noticed how the man was totally familiar with the kitchen, how he carefully placed the broken pieces aside instead of throwing them out, and the way he sniffed, softly, before he turned, hiding his face. Allison hugged her legs, an uncomfortable heaviness settling in her stomach. 

“I didn’t mean it, I was just scared.” She kept thinking of that sniff, that quick turn, how _tense_ the man’s arms were as he started getting out mixing bowls, whisks, all these _new things_ in the kitchen while making sure to keep his back turned. She wiped at her eyes roughly. “I should have called.” 

“No. It’s fine, I’m glad you’re here. It was a,” her dad smiled, pulling her close, “successful surprise.” 

“I _attacked_ your,” Allison floundered, unsure of what word to use. 

“Boyfriend,” her father provided after a few breaths, like he had to get used to the word. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s been a learning experience.” 

_What a morning,_ Allison huffed, digging her thumb into the meat of her opposite palm. She kicked her dad’s foot. 

“So, what’s his _name?_ How did you two meet?” 

Her dad rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. 

::::

Finstock moved quickly the moment the door was shut, darting back to the bedroom and throwing all his shit into a bag, blindly stuffing shirts and underwear in, fumbling for his toothbrush and floss. He had it all ready in under a minute, discreetly tucking it in the hall. 

_Just in case._

Christ, Finstock had stopped thinking like that months ago, and it was weird to be thrown so violently back into that headspace. Always keeping one foot out the door, always ready to bolt, to leave at a moment’s notice. Just in case Chris changed his mind, just in case Chris suddenly became a homophobe, just in case his wife decided to come back after four years.

_Just in case._

They never talked about labels. _Wanna be boyfriends_ was the kind of question Finstock hated asking when he was twenty, so at forty-seven he was especially loathsome of the word. _Partners_ was something serious. Partners was… a word Finstock was more comfortable with, but he was too cowardly to ask for. 

His daughter, who Chris talked to every other day, didn’t even know his name. 

_Fuck,_ he breathed through the tightness in his throat, the stinging at his eyes. _If this is it, I’m leaving on the best fucking breakfast I’ve ever made._

Fluffy japanese pancakes were neatly stacked on two plates, topped with a sprinkling of powdered sugar, drizzled non-FDA-approved-organic-as-FUCK maple syrup, topped with strawberries carefully carved into roses. Paired with freshly squeezed orange juice in perfectly polished glasses, Finstock made a _masterpiece_ before three in the morning. It was so fucking beautiful he had to take a picture. He sent it off to Kira, wiping his hands on his apron to keep them from shaking. His phone buzzed immediately.

_Holy shit, is everything okay?_

Of course Kira could tell when Finstock was making a _fuck you I will leave with dignity_ meal. He heard the porch creak and moan. He quickly responded with a _don’t know yet._

Allison stepped through first, immediately throwing the blanket back over the chair. Finstock put down the plates roughly, hurrying because she was coming right for him with her hand out. He shook it, lightheaded. 

“Bobby,” her grip was firm. Warm. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Allison, and I’m really sorry.” 

She apologized with a familiar, no-nonsense cadence that had Finstock’s lips quirking up into a smile. 

“Well shit, you know you’ve inherited your dad’s way of making amends? That’s wild.” He waved it off like he hadn’t shed a few tears in a panic-fueled moment. “Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t want to walk into this face,” he patted his own cheek, “coming out of a dark hallway either.” 

“Stop that,” Chris rolled his eyes. He kissed Finstock’s cheek without hesitation. Finstock hoped he didn’t shake apart. “What’s all this?” 

“Breakfast. For you two.” 

Chris frowned, but Allison was first to speak. 

“Where’s your plate?” 

“The recipe only makes enough for two, the moment you try doubling the batch the meringue has a habit of collapsing. Plus, I mean, I could head out, if you needed—” Chris grabbed a plate from the cabinet while Allison cut one of her pancakes in half. “Hey, wait, I can whip up eggs or something, I’m not that hungry, you don’t have to—” Chris had another plate and the maple syrup. He dragged a chair up behind Finstock, nudging the backs of his knees with his toes until Finstock had to sit. “Fuck you, I was trying to be nice.” 

Chris snorted, pulling his chair closer to Finstock. Allison made a pleasant sound at the first bite, giving the _that’s good shit_ nod that Finstock had come to expect from his food. Chris’s table was small, it was more fit for two people, but the three of them made it work, Finstock’s elbows only bumping Allison’s a few times. 

“These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.” Allison nudged Finstock’s arm. “So, I never thought I’d meet the man who was ready to have a throwdown in my dad’s tattoo parlor because you thought he was abusing his staff.” Finstock choked on orange juice as Allison’s smile widened into a grin. “Is it true you brought in your fellow bakers armed with knives and called him a cunt?” 

“Oh my God.” Finstock slapped his hands over his scarlet face. “How is this my fucking life?” 

Chris, the asshole, just laughed with his daughter, and Finstock felt a smile growing on his face despite the prickling heat crawling down his neck. 

::::

Hoarse laughter echoed in Chris’s living room, peppered with his daughters giggling amusement. It was a nice sound, listening to her laugh with Bobby as the sky turned from black to grey. He washed the dishes, batting away Bobby’s hands when he tried. Allison yawned, and the two of them ended up on the couch, Allison eager to get a clearer picture of Bobby Finstock. 

_He’s moved in, I need to know more than just his name,_ she reasonsed. 

Chris had blushed on the porch. _He’s not moved in, we haven’t, that hasn’t—_

_Dad,_ Allison leveled him with a quirked brow and a smile, _your refrigerator is full of food I know you didn’t cook._

Okay so maybe Bobby spent most nights at Chris’s house unless there was a particularly big custom order for the bakery. Chris had been eating better ever since because Bobby always prepared lunch and made extra for Isaac and Boyd at the parlor. It wasn’t rare for Kira to come over with a box of baked goods if Bobby was too busy. Chris would always stop by the bakery at the end of his break, kissing Bobby over the divide, ignoring Jackson and Erica’s colorful commentary that would inevitably earn them the middle finger from Bobby. 

“I’m not telling this story when you’re jet-lagged. You need to sleep, shower, eat some more food, and then probably sleep again, if I’m being one-hundred percent real with you right now.” 

Bobby’s voice was a comfortable rasp that settled in Chris’s house like it had always been there, adorning the walls. He toweled off his hands, watching Allison’s head fall to the side, her voice much quieter. 

“Promise?” 

“Yeah, _fine,_” Bobby blew out an exasperated breath that was all for show. “I _promise._ Get some sleep.” 

By the time Chris made it to the living room, Allison was breathing deeply, slumped to one side. Chris moved her easily, slipping a pillow under her neck so she wouldn’t wake up with too many aches and pains from travel. Bobby covered her with a blanket while Chris slipped off her boots. Chris caught a glimpse of the light cut on his arm. 

“Come on. Let me clean that.”

It was easy to pull Bobby down the hallway that led to the bathroom. Or, it would have been easy, if Chris didn’t immediately stumble over a backpack in the corner of the hall. Before he could say anything, Bobby scooped it up, walking past him to hurl it back into their— Chris’s bedroom. 

“Sorry,” Bobby’s shoulders were tense for a few seconds before he turned back around, leaning on the wall. “Forgot to put that away.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, gonna waste a band-aid on this?” 

He held out his arm, already taking his first step to the bathroom. Chris didn’t let himself be distracted, righting the bag on the bed, and then noticing… that all of Finstock’s things were gone. Stuffed in the bag, gathered in seconds, and stashed by the hall in case he had to leave within minutes. 

“Wait.” 

Bobby huffed, rolling his shoulders as he slumped, sitting on the bed. 

“Look, I just thought maybe you’d want me gone. I mean, it’s a lot, you know, coming home and seeing a _stranger_ in your house who’s sleeping with your dad.” Bobby’s arms twitched, like he wanted to wring his hands but _knew_ that Chris would bristle if he did that, so he kept his hands limp on knees. “It’s a lot to take in _without_ jet lag. Thought you’d want some privacy.” 

Quickly deciding that the scrape was shallow and Chris could always give it a look in a few hours when the sun was properly out, he pulled back the sheets, but didn’t get in. 

“You have a place here. You’re not… just someone who can be hidden away.” Guilt weighed on Chris’s shoulders because this conversation should have happened a long time ago and not in the middle of the night after his daughter’s screams woke him up out of a dead sleep. “I’m serious about you. I thought we were— are serious.” 

“We are!” Finstock glared when Chris rose an eyebrow pointedly at the rushed packed backpack that slouched between them. “Look, I just thought gay panic finally hit. It’s like Batman, it can come out of nowhere.”

“Did you just compare gay panic to Batman?” 

“I mean, is it a comparison or a personification? You know, that’s a thesis I’d read—” 

Chris wound his fingers in Bobby’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss. It was a little awkward, the backpack digging into Chris’s stomach before Finstock kicked it off the bed. Bobby made a sound, a soft huff of air, and gradually loosened up, chasing after Chris’s lips like he actually thought he’d never get another chance. 

The thought made it hard to breathe, and not in the fun way. Chris breathed past the pain, promising he’d do better in the future so that Bobby wouldn’t have to haphazardly throw all his shit in a bag and leave it by the door. 

When he drew back for air, his lips tingled. 

“Get in bed.” 

Chris didn’t _mean_ to growl, not really, but it was worth it to see the pink on Finstock’s ears and nose. 

“All right, all right.” 

It was easy to pull back the covers, to pull Bobby’s back against his chest. It was even easier to fit against him, to rub his stubble on the bit of exposed shoulder thanks to Bobby’s shirt slouching to one side. Goosebumps sprung up under his lips. Bobby brought up Chris’s hand to his mouth and bit his knuckles. 

_I love you,_ Chris didn’t say. It wasn't close to the first time he thought those words. It peppered his thoughts throughout the day, when Bobby grumbled nonsense in his sleep, when he could hear Bobby’s cursing through the bakery’s door before Chris stepped through, or when Bobby would answer the phone with audible smile that warmed the _“What the fuck do you want?”_

That night, his affection didn’t seem so looming and terrifying. 

_I love you,_ Chris thought again, with a smile, before he closed his eyes, blanketed in comfort and reassurance that everything he needed was within arm’s reach.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew haha. I can’t remember the last time I wrote something so short… ahha. Sorry guys, I DO have a longer one-shot planned where we get to SEE that disaster first meeting between Bobby and Chris, trust me, but I couldn’t get it done in time for the Long Weekend. I’ve had his equally nutty meeting of Allison in my head and I just thought it would be a fun prologue to this cute series of these two dads just… falling in love haha. 
> 
> I hope this is still fun to read though! And it was a fun way to kick off the event!!! Love you guys, let’s keep the train going!
> 
> I’ll still be active on tumblr for the time being, but there are other ways to find me. [**Here**](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/about) you can see a little breakdown of other places to find me and the other things I do in relation to these fics (journals/behind the scenes, playlists, head canons). [**So click on over** ](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/about)to get the full rundown!


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